Britcom romances

Eccentricity: It’s in the Genes

Recently, somebody called me “eccentric” and I wasn’t entirely sure how to take it. I tried to take it eccentrically by gathering 54 cats and moving into the forest but it turns out the forest doesn’t have WiFi. Fuck that.

I kept the cats though.

It’s not surprising that I sometimes come out with odd things. Like that time at work when my team were engaged in guerilla warfare with someone from other team [remind me to post about this sometime] and I suggested we kidnap his child. Apparently it wasn’t appropriate? Whatever. Would’ve worked and we would’ve got the wheels back for our desk chairs.

But that’s nowhere near as odd as some of the things my nan (grandmother) and mum have said. It’s in my genes.

This is my nan, Eve. I’m the fourish-year-old on her lap. Nan raised eight children AND cared for her father until his death in three bedroom house. She never tried pasta or pizza because they were “too weird”. She pronounced Thai ‘thigh’ and flirted with the vicar, Father John.

Nan also came out with some eccentric things sometimes. Such as:

Nan: “You know Enid?”

Mum: “No.”

Nan: “Oh, you do. She used to live near us. Enid.”

Mum: “No.”

Nan: “She worked at the book shop. Always wore a hat.”

Mum: “Oh, yes! Enid. I remember.”

Nan: “Well it doesn’t matter because she’s dead.”

Mum: “…”

—

Me: “I’m going vegetarian, Nan.”

Nan: “So what are you going to eat? Chicken?”

—

[Quiz show comes on TV]

Nan [suddenly and forcefully]: “I can’t do rivers. Or mountains.”

—

At a funeral.

Son of the deceased: “I hear you and [Deceased] used to go shopping on a Monday?”

Nan: “Yes. But not last Monday. Because she was dead.”

—

Nan: “We had a man round to look at our bathrooms. I think he might have been ambidextrous.”

Me: “That must come in useful for a tradesman.”

Nan: “Why?”

Me: “Well, he can use either hand so he can get into hard-to-reach places and all that.”

Nan: “What are you on about?”

[Insert a few minutes of confused conversation]

Me: “…do you mean he’s bisexual?”

Nan: “Yes. That’s what I said.”

—

Nan: “I’m going to ask the lady vicar. What’s her name… Father Sheila.”

Nan, reminiscing: “Anna, you won’t remember when I was a little girl…”

—

Nan, talking on the phone to my mum: “Is Anna in bed?”

Mum: “No. It’s 8pm and she’s 18.”

Nan: “She should be in bed!”

—

And then there’s my mum. She’s not a bird lady–we were at a wildlife sanctuary. She despises pigeons, irons socks, and dislikes my books because there’s “too much sex and swearing”. I’m hoping to put that review on the cover.

Mum’s come out with some good ones recently.

[While unpacking the online shopping]

Mum: “Oh my god.”

Me: “What?”

Mum: “I’ve accidentally ordered 5kg of peas.”

—

Mum, thoughtfully: “Wouldn’t it be horrible to wake up and find you were dead?”

—

Mum, on the phone six times a day for about six months after getting her first computer: “Anna, is it left click or right click to open the Google?”

Dad (Grandpa) occasionally would be brave and suggest a curry might be nice for a change. He got curry every day for a week. Mum told me it’d teach him not to ask again ‘if he likes it so much he can have it every day bugger him’.